


On My Side

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: The coffee machine gurgled and glugged. Keith sidestepped a garden gnome with a carefully positioned leaf and didn't think of the past. He watched Kosmo chase a bird and felt his roots grow. Upstairs, Shiro slept on peacefully.Things were different now. Things were good.





	On My Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoldenTruth813](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/gifts).



> This is a gift fic for goldentruth813. Janel, my dear, I know you've had a rough few days, so I sincerely hope this helps a little. It has precisely one swear word in it, monumental amounts of fluff, and a lot of love. You, like Shiro and Keith, deserve all the good things in the world!

Keith prodded the wall of muscle that had slam-dunked him through the mattress, blinking blearily in the dark. It was early, and there was a monumental weight covering half of his aching body. Unfortunately, this was not an uncommon occurrence.

“Shiro,” Keith hissed, prodding harder when there was no response. “Shiro, move. You’re crushing me.”

Shiro huffed sleepily in his ear and shuffled closer. If it weren’t for his aching organs, Keith might have felt appeased. He might have smiled and kissed Shiro’s brow softly. He might even have melted at the way Shiro pressed his face into the crook of Keith’s neck, holding him close even in sleep. It was sweet, and settling. But Keith only had to crane his neck to peer over the fortress of shoulder, and the gooey feeling in his chest evaporated. There was a vast ocean of soft bed covers on the other side, a veritable universe of memory-foam mattress that was melting back into shape the longer Shiro stayed on Keith’s side. 

Not that they had sides, to tell the truth. Every morning was different, but usually their bed was a tangle of limbs and quilts, and there would be a head resting on someone’s chest. Shiro would snore, Keith would kick, and they both took turns stealing the blankets. Keith loved it. He just didn't love being shocked awake at five in the morning by Shiro’s massive elbow digging into his lungs. 

Grumpy, Keith wriggled his way out from under Shiro and stood on silent feet, stretching. A slip of light fell through a crack in the curtains, landing on Kosmo’s shining fur. Keith rolled his shoulders to rid himself of comfortable aches, and glanced down. His t-shirt was far too big, one of Shiro’s old ones, and it had gotten caught in the waistband of his boxers while he slept. He grumbled as he fixed it, and Shiro gave an answering mumble from the bed, but stayed asleep. Kosmo yawned widely from the corner and trotted out of the room, leading the way down to breakfast. 

Shiro wouldn’t wake for another hour, at least, but Keith was up for good now. Sometimes he managed to get back to sleep, but no matter how far away from troubled times they went, one thing would always be true; Keith was an early riser. 

He shot another glare at Shiro as a snore shook the walls, and then gave in easily to the urge that rose in him. He dropped a kiss on Shiro’s wrinkled brow until his expression smoothed out, and then carefully wrangled some of the bedcovers out from under Shiro’s thighs, pulling them up over his waist. Keith patted a thigh and left Shiro to his peaceful slumber, content in the knowledge that it was Shiro’s turn to make breakfast at least. 

Downstairs, Keith put the coffee machine on, listening to choked gurgles. Kosmo scratched at the back door until Keith let him out, shoving on some slippers with a faintly muttered complaint before following his dog out into the cold morning air. 

It was crisp and pale out; the sun had barely risen over the frosty ground, but where it landed turned white as snow. Their garden was so big that it vanished over the crest of a hill, spanning a few acres of land that the Garrison had spirited them away to where they wouldn’t cause trouble. Keith stood and breathed in the cold, his feet rooted to the ground. 

He remembered the first year or so after the defeat of the Galra, when things weren’t so shiny and bright. Shiro had heaved himself out of dark dreams every night, shaking and wide-eyed. He had run fingers over his prosthetic and gone close-lipped in the evenings. Keith had walked on eggshells wherever he went, snapping in the silence and gritting his teeth at every noise. He had taken Shiro’s silence as a personal offence, and felt the danger in being soft. It had taken a long time for the both of them to feel like the war wasn’t tapping its foot on his doorstep. It had been a while and several sharp words before they both remembered that safety lived in each other. 

Keith bent and grabbed a stick from the pile they kept near the back door, near the scantily-dressed garden gnomes that Pidge sent every Christmas, as some kind of gag gift. Keith didn't pretend to understand his friends, but he kept the gnomes; even the one in a thong, doing a handstand. Kosmo trotted back from a cluster of short trees that always dismayed come morning, when the large galloping dog treated them to a spot of business. He threw his arm back and lobbed the stick as far as possible, laughing quietly when Kosmo changed direction in a flail of eager limbs and sprinted after the stick, before becoming enamoured with a flutter of wings in the near distance. The coffee machine gurgled and glugged. Keith sidestepped a gnome with a carefully positioned leaf and didn't think of the past. He watched his wolf chase a bird and felt his roots grow. Upstairs, Shiro slept on peacefully.

Things were different now. Things were good.

_* * *_

“So that’s two orders of Mulligatawny Soup, for 1 o’clock,” Hunk said cheerfully. Keith could hear rattling over the line as he battled with pots and pans, presumably setting up the kitchen for the day ahead.

“Yeah. Thanks Hunk. You sure you don’t mind the trek?” 

“Nah, I’ll send Lance again when he comes by later. It’s not like he’ll be surprised.”

“We don’t order from you _that_ much.” 

“You order daily, Keith,” Hunk told him, blatantly laughing at him down the phone. “Daily. I’m surprised you haven’t turned into soup yet.” 

“I’m just keeping your business alive,” Keith said, before hanging up on Hunk’s laughter. He was grinning reluctantly when he pocketed his phone, shaking his head as he fiddled with the coffee machine. Soft footsteps shuffled through the kitchen door while he debated adding cream. Keith hid a grin as Shiro placed his large, gentle hands on Keith’s waist. 

“Good morning, love.”

“If you make me spill this coffee, I’ll do something rash,” Keith warned him, trying to sound stern as he stirred the spoon with little clinks. It was hard to sound stern when the endearments came out, especially this early in the day. Shiro chuckled, lips grazing the nape of Keith’s neck, and stepped forward so he was pressed up against Keith’s back. The sensation sent a shudder down Keith’s spine. 

“You used to be so much more detailed when you threatened people,” Shiro noted, voice thick with sleep and amusement. “There were diagrams and everything.” 

“Maybe I’m not at my best,” Keith said, deadpan. “Maybe that has something to do with being crushed at ass o’clock this morning. _Maybe_ you’re literally squashing my creativity.”

Shiro pressed a loving kiss to Keith’s neck, an unspoken apology that was thoroughly undermined by the laughter rumbled through him. His mouth was warm and welcoming, and his arms were grounding as they wrapped further around Keith from behind, a familiar touch. Everything about this was familiar, and it took Keith’s breath away that it might stay this way. It _would_ stay this way, if Keith had any say in it, and he did. 

Shiro moved to the side after a few quiet minutes. He tugged gently on Keith’s messy bun before taking the coffee he offered. It was in Shiro’s favourite mug, though it could just as easily be mistaken for a bucket. 

“Did I hurt you?” Shiro asked, mostly teasing, though there was a hint of concern there. 

“Your shoulders are weapons,” Keith said seriously, trying not to grin over the top of his mug. “I think they bruised me permanently. The Garrison didn’t take enough advantage of them when they had the chance.” 

There was a glint in Shiro’s sleepy eyes that spelled trouble. 

“You’re welcome to take advantage of me and my shoulders any time you like, to make up for it.” 

Keith gave up on trying not to grin. He laughed even as heat stirred inside him, the same heat that always flushed his cheeks when Shiro showed even a hint of interest. Shiro showed much more than a hint, these days, and it had for a while, but it still made Keith feel overwhelmed. It often felt as though this was a chapter from someone else’s life, something he couldn’t possibly be living. Maybe because he never thought he’d make it here. 

Keith didn’t dwell on it. He was here, now, in the place he’d fought to be, and nothing was going to change that. 

“I ordered soup, Kosmo’s been out but he’ll need to go for a run again later, and you have to answer those emails, but then maybe we can talk about that shoulder thing later.” Keith smirked up at Shiro, who shook his head fondly over his coffee. 

“Emails on a Sunday.” Shiro frowned slightly. “Maybe I should have slept in.”

Shiro wouldn’t. He’d never avoid things like that, which was the only reason why Keith shrugged and said, “So fuck them.”

He got a kiss for his trouble. He tugged Shiro in by his shirt, coffee mug mashed carelessly between them, and kissed him until his voice was deep and lovely. 

“Tempting,” Shiro murmured, leaning back a bit. “Far too tempting. But the sooner I get them done, the sooner we can get to you taking advantage.”

Keith scoffed, rescuing his mug from between them. “Don't see why we can’t combine the two, but fine.”

Shiro laughed, leaning forward again to kiss Keith soundly. It was a kiss drenched in morning, in tender contentment. He drew back and fiddled with a bit of Keith’s hair, running the smooth lock between his fingers. The familiarity made Keith’s stomach dip. 

“Let’s see what the day brings.”

_* * *_

Years ago, sitting still would have killed Keith. It would have driven him into an early grave to retire to a red house with a cosy window seat and acres of empty farmland, and do next to nothing.

The same was still true today. He hadn’t changed that much. He still had to do things to keep himself sane. He did yoga and he worked out and he studied, going through courses like they were pizza sticks, and took some kind of action wherever he could grab it, but the urgency had faded. He could study on the weekdays, and rest too. He could fly with Shiro to the Garrison and train new recruits, and he could spend Sunday’s wrapped in quilts, watching Shiro complete a crossword in a magazine. 

Shiro was his balance, and Keith had always known it, but it was one thing to know it deep down and another to revel in the fact every day. 

“You know we don’t need money, right?” Keith said, just in case this was one of those anxious moments, where Shiro worried about not contributing enough to what they had. He didn’t think it was, but it was good to check. 

Shiro glanced at him from the desk. He had a laptop open and a large wall of emails waiting for him, and he was ignoring them in favour of diligently filling in a glossy magazine puzzle page. It was the kind you could rip out and mail off to be put in a prize draw, which it no doubt would be. 

“I know,” Shiro said, with a glow about him as he met Keith’s eyes. “Though if you keep buying me new clothes, I’m going to have to send these in every day.”

He lifted the magazine in demonstration, teasing, but Keith shrugged lazily against the pillows. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t like it when you get a new shirt or sweater,” Keith said, mouth curling up. “Or those suit pants. And I always make sure you look good.” 

Shiro scoffed, but Keith could tell he was pleased by the way he ducked his head, scribbling in another word so that his blush wouldn’t show quite so forcefully. It was less startling than others might think, to see Shiro flustered, but Keith had always been the one to poke and prod at these unknown parts of Shiro. 

“Besides,” Keith added softly. “You deserve to have the things you want, Takashi.” 

That was a lesson they had drilled into each other from the beginning, but the road to acceptance was long and frustrating. Keith had never been handed things; his whole life, he’d had to work for them, and he’d earned everything he had now. But it had been a shock to suddenly have what he wanted given to him every morning, with Shiro smiling at him across their scattered toast crumbs and flight plans, or kissing him before they left for work. Shiro had worked for what he wanted as well, but he had never quite believed that he _deserved_ it when it was offered. Not after everything that he’d been through. So there had been an adjustment period, you could say, when they first got together, although Keith liked to call it a “really stupid couple of months.”

“So do you,” Shiro said, after a beat. “You deserve everything you want.” 

Keith could hear the unspoken words: _and I am going to spend the rest of my life trying to give it to you._

Shiro coughed. “Six letter word for Hackneyed, Trite? Begins with C.”

Keith actually knew this one from a previous crossword, one of Pidge’s, and he grinned with glee. 

“Cheesy. Very fitting, don't you think?” Keith smirked at the ceiling. “Sorry, I mean that it should fit in, don't you think?”

Shiro paused. There was a sniff and a scribble as he filled in the letters, and when Keith turned his head to look at him, Shiro glanced up.

“You’re smart,” Shiro said, with a solemn nod. “That’ll keep you alive.”

Keith rolled to the side to avoid the missile launched his way: the pen bounced harmlessly off the pillow. He snatched it up, snickering, and aimed a cheeky grin Shiro’s way. 

“The timing was too perfect. The universe is clearly on my side.”

“You don't even believe that stuff,” Shiro complained, but he was grinning as he stood up, the desk chair rolling away from his perfect arse, clad in sweatpants. The dark grey fabric clung to him, but they were soft and comfortable with age. Keith eyed him appreciatively as he drew near until he could balance one hand next to Keith’s head, leaning over him. He leaned closer and closer, hovering over Keith’s mouth, and just as Keith was about to drag him in, Shiro’s eyes widened in false innocence. 

“You said you wanted a nap,” Shiro whispered. He stood up smoothly, the pen tucked in his hand so that Keith couldn’t aim it at his traitorous back. “I would never get in the way of a man’s beauty sleep.”

Shiro walked backwards across the room, laughing, while Keith growled and reached for a pillow. 

“Get back over here.”

“Seriously, nap.” Shiro’s eyes softened as he stopped inches from the bedroom door. “I woke you up this morning, and you look tired. I’m going to take a shower anyway.” 

Keith propped himself up on his elbows, still scowling slightly. “That’s supposed to be an incentive for me to shut my eyes?” 

Shiro’s laughter carried all the way to the bathroom, where the door shut firmly behind him. Keith let out an aggrieved sigh and flopped against the bed, his mind already ticking over ways to get Shiro back. 

He _was_ tired, and someone needed to be dry in case their lunch delivery came to the door. (Not that he hadn’t answered the door in his boxers before, or a towel, or, on one memorable occasion, with a ripped sheet from a badly executed Halloween Costume wrapped around his waist.) But just because Shiro was mostly right, didn't mean Keith couldn’t withhold soup when it arrived.

Kosmo jumped on the bed and curled up at Keith’s feet, where he could pretend Keith couldn’t see him shedding all over the covers. 

Shiro started singing as the shower ran, some old pop song that kept cropping up on the radio recently. Keith smiled, a deep burst of love flooding through him, and scolded himself for his soppy expression as he shoved his face into Shiro’s pillow. But Shiro kept singing, and the love never faded. 

The song slipped smoothly into one of the Jonas Brothers new songs, Keith coaxed Kosmo up to shed on Shiro’s side of the bed, and Keith concluded that even if the universe wasn't on their side, if their love hadn’t faded by now, it never, ever would.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading, lovely people! Let me know what you thought! <3


End file.
